Black Star Bay

by T C Miller

  “Landing’s no problem and the hike down the mountain side with eighty-pound packs is no big deal…It’s the perps at the bottom that’ll be the challenge…Intel says they’re exSpetnatz forces…Mostly from old Soviet-bloc countries…Highly trained and deadly…Try to take them alive, but don’t take chances…One wrong move…drop them…Also a Customs BORTAC team’s standing by, ready to board anything at sea.”

  Onkst sat back in his seat and stared out the window at the sunset over the ocean. It fluttered, appeared to sizzle and disappeared with an abruptness that was startling. Never get tired of beautiful sunsets. Watching nature’s glory was one way he stayed grounded in life. Fourteen years of combined service, first with the military and now with the NSA conditioned him to the temporary nature of life.

  Carl interrupted his reverie with a question. “Ever been shot?”

  “Twice…once by a Columbian drug-lord…once by a street gang member in Panama…Hurts like hell…But you get over it…or die. Say, you’ve worked with this Winfield before, what do you think of him?”

  “Superhuman is about the best word to describe him. I’ve been in situations with him when we were exhausted, mentally and physically…Winfield just kept on pushing like it was a Sunday picnic. I learned more in a few years with him than I learned the twenty years before.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard from other people...Can’t wait to meet him and swap stories.”

  “Good luck on that…He doesn’t say much, and when he does, it’s to praise the people who work with him. Never says much about the things he’s done…”

  The voice of the pilot broke in, “Coming up on final.”

  The chopper banked slightly to the east to approach the landing zone from the leeward side of the coastal mountain range and away from the ocean. They wanted to stay undetected as long as possible. The mercenaries undoubtedly watched for any law enforcement units.

  They might be monitoring all radio frequencies, and might even have a rudimentary radar system set up to warn them of approaching ships and aircraft. Bart Winfield told them of seeing disguised communications towers hidden among giant redwood trees on the hills above the town.

  Onkst leaned back and checked the H&K MP5-SD3 rifle hung in a sling around his neck. It was flash and sound-suppressed and had a collapsible stock that reduced its length when desired. The banana-shaped mag held thirty rounds of 9mm parabellum ammunition and his Molle Ops vest held six more mags secured in Velcro-enclosed pockets.

  Another member of the team hugged an MP5 that was modified to fire grenades. They each had a mag of plastic rounds that were designed to incapacitate, rather than kill. All of them carried tear gas and flash-bang grenades, as well as frags.

  Onkst checked the SEF level on his weapon to insure it was in the safe position. He would change it to either single rounds or automatic, once the operation encountered hostile fire. He cracked his neck to release tension and settled in for the rest of the flight. Carl leaned in close to him again and raised his visor to talk. Bob raised his and asked, “What do you need?”

  “Just wondering…Has Colonel Winfield been told that I’m coming with you?”

  “Don’t think so, why?”

  “Has he been told about me at all?”

  “Banner didn’t think it was a good idea…Thought it might cloud the mission.”

  “Makes me a little nervous then…after what happened at Mather. Afraid he might not be too happy to see my sorry ass.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Kept you under wraps for a reason…Once this mission’s over you’ll have more plastic surgery…By the time they get through, your own mother won’t recognize you.”

  “True…Even the few things they’ve done make me wonder if it’s really me in the mirror.”

  “That’s the idea…Besides, you’ll be wearing night-vision goggles and a balaclava mask…Everybody looks the same…So don’t worry.”

  “I’m not, but what happens if they make me? What do I do then?”

  “Play it by ear…Anyway, Banner’s gonna have you join the team soon anyway…It’d just speed things up.”

  “Guess you’re right.”

  They flipped down their visors and prepared for the landing. Onkst raised his right hand with his forefinger extended upward and drew a circle. It was the signal for the rest of the team to mount up and get ready to disembark. Hostile action was drawing closer by the minute and they were ready… ***

  CHAPTER 23

  INSIDE ALTAR

  NEAR SEAWIND CANNERY, CA “Somebody knows what they’re doing…That’s fresh air being pumped in,” Bart whispered into his mike. He had him take the lead as they entered the altar and moved slowly down the stone ramp. Rubber-soled boots gripped the uneven surface and provided sure-footed progress as they stooped low out of habit—even though the tunnel was at least eight feet high.

  He cautiously peered around the curve with his MP-5 held at chest level and ready. The passageway was lit as far as he could see and was empty. It slanted steadily downward and they followed it with ease while taking care to stay away from a shallow drainage channel at the base of the wall. Each step was done with a toe-heel motion that allowed movement with little noise. Jake stayed two arms-lengths behind him with his weapon at the ready and used the same stealth technique.

  The gentle creaking of web gear and the soft steady sounds of measured breaths were the only sounds in the tunnel. Bart pointed to a fixture on the ceiling ahead of them. As they approached, the steady hum of a fan became louder.

  He pointed up. “Fresh air. Explains why it’s dry in here and no mold…From the distance we’ve covered, I’d say this goes to the cannery.”

  “Roger that.”

  Another ten minutes passed and they were still descending. The lights seemed to stretch on forever.

  “Room up ahead,” Bart whispered over his shoulder.” Jake peered around Bart and saw the transition of the tunnel

  into what appeared to be a much wider space about twenty feet ahead of them. The end was framed with wide bands of iron that supported a heavy metal door on one side.

  One of the kidnappers had come back and was reaching for the door to close it. He glanced up to find them in the tunnel and froze. Indecision about whether to pick up the rifle he had leaned against the wall or finish closing the door cost him his life.

  A throwing knife seemed to leap out of Bart’s pants pocket with a mind of its own and fly straight to the Russian. It embedded itself almost fully in his chest and pierced his heart. A surprised look was his final conscious action. He fell face-first to the stone floor and the knife was driven all the way in. A few spasmodic jerks followed and a trickle of blood discolored his lips—a final breath left his body with a quiet sigh.

  “”Nice throw, sir,” Jake whispered. “Glad we’re on the same team.”

  “Part of the job. Let’s move into the room…figure out what’s next.”

  Jake followed him through the doorway—turned and slammed the door shut with a resounding clang.

  “Buddies’ll think he’s doing his job.”

  “Looks like this is plenty big enough to hold whatever was moving through the tunnel. Joe said that smuggling booze during Prohibition was how a lot of the town made a living. Makes sense they’d use the dock at the cannery. ‘Course, they’d know revenuers’d be watching the road leading up to the highway…especially at night. Be the perfect way to get it out. Must have worked… Liquor agents would have blown it up if they’d found it.”

  “And looks like the Russians are taking full advantage of it.”

  “Seem to be…let’s see what’s behind door number two.”

  He pointed toward the opposite wall from the tunnel door to the only other exit from the brick-walled room. Surprisingly, the hinges were well-oiled and opened with very little noise.

  Bart pulled a telescoping mirror that was similar to what dentists used out of his shirt pocket. It allowed him to see around corners without being exposed to dir
ect fire.

  The hallway led only to the right and terminated at a door that was closed. A window in the top half revealed a cavernous room on the other side that looked like the inside of a factory. Pipes and conveyor belt supports hung in a seemingly random pattern. Long strips of florescent tubes were covered with metal grills. Age and lack of cleaning lent a hazy yellow hue to the window and obscured part of the view. They moved carefully up to the door and Bart used the mirror to peek into the room.

  “Nobody in sight.”

  “Want me to poke around a little, Boss?”

  “Negative. We’ll go together, since it’s just two of us. Duck and cover ‘til we find something interesting. Get separated…meet back here.”

  “Ready anytime.”

  The door made a scraping sound as it opened far enough for them to slip through. They paused to see if there was a response, then slipped into the larger room. It was a secondary canning line for specialty items and was mostly empty. A sliding panel on the opposite wall was open to the main part of the cannery.

  They moved to it in sequence and peeked into the main room. Faint voices could be heard coming from large double doors that were open to a wharf. The sun was setting over the Pacific Ocean and security lights were coming on. They illuminated a fishing trawler and the gangplank that led to it.

  Excited murmurings came from the back wall of the larger room where corridors branched off to other areas in the building.

  Jake keyed his mike, “Sure sound upset…Wonder why?”

  “No idea.”

  Two burly figures burst out of the corridor at a near-run and headed toward the door leading to the wharf. They stepped out of the door and yelled toward the trawler. Two figures ran down the gangplank, but were too far away to positively identify in the deepening twilight.

  The duo from the cannery reached the base of the gangplank and waited for the other two to join them in the circle of light. Bart recognized one of them—mostly because of his size—as Greg Peters and the second man as Rick Eichner. Jake started to move, until Bart put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let’s don’t get hasty.”

  Jake’s expression turned from a look of annoyance at being halted to a question of why Bart had stopped him.

  “We don’t know where the girls are being held…Force them back onto the boat and they might could leave. Heck of lot harder to stop them on the water. We’ll search the building first…see if our ladies are here.”

  “Makes sense. Three hallways and we just came from one, so we know they’re not there. Split up?”

  “No…better stick together. That way we can cover front and back…I’ll take point again.”

  The hallways appeared to be identical, so Bart chose the nearest. It held two doors on the left and one further down on the right. His senses became hyper-vigilant and even the gentle rustling of his clothing sounded almost deafening.

  They reached the first door and listened for any sign of activity. After a minute or so, Bart slowly turned the knob and eased it open. The beam of his flashlight penetrated the darkened room to reveal nothing more than a storage closet.

  He gently closed the door and motioned for Jake to follow. The next room was also empty, so they moved on to the third room. He spoke softly into the throat mike, “Padlocked…Got your picks?”

  “Never leave home without ‘em.”

  “See how fast you can do an ‘Open, Sesame’”.

  Jake pulled the kit from a deep pocket. Less than a minute later, the lock clicked and popped open.

  “Something’s blocking the door.” He pulled a telescoping mirror out of a shirt pocket. “Pitch-black…think it’s a body.”

  “He’d be all over you if he was conscious…We’ll both push.” The opening slowly widened as they applied their combined force. Jake found a light switch on the wall and fluorescent ceiling lights slowly flickered to life.

  “Somebody put a serious beating on this bad boy.” Jake knelt and put his finger on the prone figure’s neck. “Gone.”

  Bart pointed to scratches on the back of the door, “Looks like he tried to get somebody’s attention. You’d think he’d have a radio.”

  Jake turned the body over and pointed to an empty bracket on the dead man’s belt. “Gone now.”

  Bart tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed across the room, “Looks like they had two prisoners. Could be our girls…So where are they…Trawler, maybe?”

  Jake shrugged. “Could be what all the commotion was.”

  “Don’t think so, or they’d have been coming from this corridor...Look out!”

  Bart’s warning was too late. Jake was still kneeling and was bowled over as the door pushed open wider. The impact sent him sprawling over the body as two dark-suited figures forced their way into the room.

  Jake responded by drawing a suppressed pistol and shooting the first intruder twice in the chest. The dying body pitched forward and trapped him underneath it. The second intruder paused halfway through the door, undecided as to whether he should continue into the room or turn and run.

  Bart’s first shot missed, but caused an explosion of splinters from the door frame. The startled guard raised his hand to protect his eyes and Bart’s second shot hit him in the throat. The guard dropped his hands to his neck and blood spurted between his fingers. The impact of a third shot between the eyes thrust him back into the hallway.

  Jake managed to squirm his way out from the under the lifeless body of the first guard, and before Bart could react, pulled the second guard into the room and closed the door.

  “Thanks…Think anybody heard?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Don’t know how many there are, but now they’re missing three. Won’t take ‘em long to figure out they’re not on a smoke break…Better get moving.”

  Jake locked the door behind them—pulled out a couple of small pieces of wire he kept in his kit for situations like this and crammed them into the lock. Even the original key couldn’t open it.

  “Should slow them down a little.”

  Bart acknowledged it with a nod. They’d have to cut or shoot the lock off and would have quite a surprise once they gained entrance to the room.

  Jake glanced back at the door. “Shame we didn’t have time to set a few traps.”

  “Did have time to pop the pin on a grenade and wedge it under the bodies…Old VC trick.”

  They started down the hallway and the tactical radio beeped twice in their ears to indicate that Tac 2 was live. Bart tapped his ear twice to switch over to the other frequency.

  “This is BSOG-1, come in.”

  “Black Star Command, how do you read?”

  “Wall-to-wall and tree-top tall, over.”

  “Same here. Missed you at assembly…What’s your sitrep?”

  “Crashed the party and looking for a couple of dance partners…Haven’t found them yet, over.”

  “Bob and his bunch are bringing the beer and Tom’s group is hauling the ice. Should be ready to start the festivities in about an hour, over.”

  “Roger that. Should have the decorations up and ready for guests by then.”

  “We’ll hang out until the party starts, over and out.”

  “Hear an incoming chopper…That you?”

  “Negative, we’re standing off about a mile…Same for the others.”

  Bart and Jake had moved into the other hallway during the exchange. An exit door stood partially open and they carefully moved past it. A door on the other side of the hallway led to a supply room that was empty, so they slipped into it.

  “What’s going on, Boss?”

  “No idea, son…Sounds like things aren’t totally under control out there.”

  The sound of a low-flying helicopter punctuated the end of the exchange. It swooped overhead from one end of the building to the other.

  Bart tapped the earpiece twice. “Who the hell is that? ‘Cause, if it’s one of our guys, we’re gonna have a little talk later.”

  “Negati
ve, BSOG-1, definitely not ours. Standby one, while I try to sort it out.”

  “Well, son…guess we’ll have to sit tight ‘til we hear back from the eye in the sky.”

  TRT-1 BRIEFING

  LANDING ZONE NEAR SEAWIND BAY “Circle around me.” The eight members of TRT-One gathered around Team Leader Onkst in a small clearing on the leeward side of the coastal mountains. “The mission plan calls for us to hike down almost to the water. Primary target is an old canning factory on the inlet. Satellite photos have disclosed activity around the facility and a recently renovated wharf large enough to accommodate two fishing trawlers. They show one ship approximately eighty feet long moored to the wharf. It’s also a target.

  “Got an update from the Coast Guard a few minutes ago. Long-range radar spotted the second trawler on course for the cannery…less than seventy miles away…Shouldn’t be a factor. Team Two’s supposed to cover the hostage extraction…Looks like they’ll have to cover the wharf, instead…just in case.

  “Assets in the area include two guys, Winfield, and Thomas…Their first op with us, although they have plenty of LE experience, including special ops. They’ll have IR markers for night vision and they’re on our frequencies, but keep an eye out for them…Things tend to go to pieces when the shit hits the fan, so don’t get trigger happy.

  “Also, new female agents Winfield and Davies may be present, so identify yourselves ASAP if you run across them…One is skilled in close-quarters combat…Trust me, you don’t want her mistaking you for a perp.”

  One of the team members raised his hand. “Does that mean I shouldn’t ask her out on a date?”

  “At your own risk, smart-ass…But sure…go ahead. Just don’t be upset if you find yourself wearing your ass as a hat.”

  Onkst looked down at his notes. “Stay off the radio if you can…We’ll be using hand signals until the action starts. Heavy cover from trees blocks most of the satellite view, so who knows what we might run into on the way down…We’ll start in single-file formation and switch to duck-and-cover on final approach…Perps are pros…so assume there’ll be lookouts posted…Questions?”